A Depiction of You
by willowwood
Summary: A quiet moment as Angela contemplates what she could have lost.


**Title:** A Depiction of You

**Author:** willowwood

**Rating:** PG

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Bones, or their flesh, or their hair or their clothes or anything else associated with this TV show….I may want to jump some of their bones but that's a very different story.

**Summary:** A quiet moment as Angela contemplates what she could have lost. H/A

**Spoilers: **Episode 2.09 "Aliens in a Spaceship"

**Authors Note: **This story, and the new layout for my LJ, answers that burning question of "What do you get when a very tired, slightly bored, mildly depressed 3rd year university student tries to avoid doing her homework, whilst shopping for a bed with her parents?"

**A Depiction of You**

After Kirks death. She had feared that she would forget what he had really looked like. It was a stupid and irrational fear really, and yet every night for the subsequent months following his murder she had still found herself studying the most recent pictures, she had of the two of them together.

Memorising every curve of his lips, the exact shade of his eyes, remembering, in graphic detail each line that marred his handsome face.

Tonight that same fear gripped her. What if yesterday she had lost the two most important people in her life? Brennan was her best friend and Hodgins, Hodgins was her…She struggled to find the right words to describe her relationship with Jack, she had the day before with Booth, Zach, and Cam, and she did now.

She had told him that they were friends. That they could only ever be friends and yet these previous events had proven that he meant so much more to her than that.

Never the less, no matter how confused her feelings for him were, there was one thing she knew for certain. Unlike with Brennan, whose face was currently smiling up at her from the pile of images, spread across the floor, at her feet, she did not own one single photograph of Dr Jack Hodgins.

Which was why the fear that if she never saw Jack again. The only image she would be able to conjure up of him in her minds eyes, would be, that of pure heart shattering sorrow, the exact same expression he had had when he had walked out of her office. Or the expression of disappointment he'd had when she asked him to stop acting weird cause it was making her feel uncomfortable. Was burning with an unwavering ferocity.

Stop acting weird? She quietly scoffed at the very memory of what she'd said to him. The events now feeling as though they'd happened a million years ago, instead of just the previous day. Right now, even the way his skin had felt beneath her fingers as he had kissed her that night on the swings, felt like nothing more than a fading dream.

This was why, at 3 o'clock in the morning. She found herself sitting Indian style on a chair at the foot of her bed, drawing the sleeping form in front of her. Rendering each minute detail on to the page, carefully casting to memory each line she drew.

The way that the faintest hint of moonlight coming in from the open patio doorway caused highlights to stand out from his brown mass of curly hair, the way long lashes rested against cheeks of smooth unblemished skin, and full pouting lips were lost amidst a tangle of neatly trimmed beard.

Every now and then, his eyes would roll or flutter, a strange jumble of words she could not understand spilling from his lips. Other times a fearful breath would catch in his throat if only for an instant, before a deep sigh would be released.

The lack of illumination within the room, made it difficult for her to work. Preventing her from truly capturing how beautiful the combination of silvery moonlight and dark shadows made everything appear, giving his expressionless face a look of pure innocence that could only be achieved through sleep.

Despite the thick sweater she had thrown around her shoulders, she could still feel the chill that had slowly filled the room, causing goose bumps to prickle along her skin, her fingers feeling like blocks of ice as the image gradually developed in front of her.

Yet not once did she contemplate closing the patio doors, too worried that when he would finally wake up, he would panic against the late night stuffiness that her bedroom was sometimes filled with.

She had done the same thing on their way to her apartment.

She had told him to finish what he had been doing in the lab whilst she went and fetched the car from the parking lot. She had hated the look of panic that had briefly flitted across his features at those simple words, and the fingers that had suddenly clasped her wrist; silently begging her not to go had startled her only briefly. She'd fought the urge to kiss away his worries, as she'd assured him that she'd carry her cell phone close to hand, and would only be five minutes at the most.

Unsurprisingly she had made it back to him within two, returning to find him standing in front of the automatic doorway, leaning awkwardly against his stolen crutches. His own cell phone firmly clasped in his hand, her number already programmed in.

He had refused her help as he had struggled to get into her car, and she had already opened all the windows by the time he had finally gotten inside. Driving across town the wind had caused her loose hair to billow across her face, stinging her eyes and sticking to her lips and even then, she could feel the night air becoming considerably cooler.

Watching her with a hint of amusement he'd told her to close the windows, but she'd insisted that she'd wanted the fresh air and had quietly rejoiced in every deep breathe she heard pass his lips.

Even now, she found herself watching, enraptured by the simple, natural rise and fall of his chest. Her own breathes mirroring his own, and she could not help but admit that her lies of needing fresh air earlier had only been partly false.

As from the moment Booth had played them the Gravediggers message her heart had been beating a staccato against her ribcage, the panicked rhythm forcing her chest to constrict tightly and she had to encourage herself to take in deep breathes in an effort to stay calm. Even now that it was all over she still found the need to focus on the simple act of breathing, in an attempting to prevent her tears from finally breaking free.

Her thoughts were broken as a quiet moan escaped his lips, and he began to stir against the sheets.

"Angela?" at the whispered sound of her name, she dropped the sketchbook at her feet before quickly moving to sit on the bed besides him.

She watched as slowly his eyes fluttered open, a brief frown marring his features as though for an instance he could not remember where he was or how he had gotten there.

She had quickly grown used to the strange patterns of light that shimmered across her walls from the street below. Yet to him, she realised that the blend of shadows and angles must have seemed like a stark contrast to the flowing maroons and purple's of her bedroom that he had been so interestingly admiring earlier.

Turning his head slightly his eyes finally focused on her face, they widened slightly as though he was surprised to actually find her watching him so intently. Hesitantly she took a moment to study his piercing blue eyes, the way the light made them shimmer like blue diamonds. Eventually he took in a deep breath, his lips quirking into a small smile.

"This isn't exactly the way I'd imagined waking up in your bed for the first time" he greeted his voice groggy from sleep. Despite the innuendo in his voice, her expression did not waver, as she continued to study the lines of his face.

"Really?" she asked after a moment. Carefully he shifted, stretching out his aching legs, before slowly pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"No" he began avoiding her gaze "Amongst other things…I always imagined that I'd be the one watching you sleep" he replied his voice barely above a whisper as he noticed the pile of papers that were scattered across the floor where she had been sitting moments ago. The portrait she'd been working on lay in clear view. There was no need for her to follow his gaze, and as she realised what had caught his attention she suddenly felt like an idiot, her irrational fears causing a faint blush to rise to her cheeks.

"I couldn't sleep," she quickly informed him, thankful that her back was to their only source of light. He nodded his head in understanding, wincing in pain at the simple gesture.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. It was a trivial question, but he had downed half a pack of pain killers before finally falling asleep, and she had already discovered that apart from his injured leg, the normally spacious confinements of Brennan's car, had made his muscles stiff after having to endure them for so long.

"Would saying like I've been hit by a car, and had my leg sliced open be too much?" he asked, and she couldn't help but smile at his attempt at light-hearted banter. His own smile lasted for only a second though, his façade quickly falling and she automatically lifted up her hand and gently cupped his cheek, running a hand across his skin just as she had earlier that day.

Her freezing hands felt like icicles against his quilt warmed skin, and Jacks own hand quickly came up to cover it, before cautiously sliding beneath the sleeve of her sweater, continuing down her bare arm. Coming to a stop only when the sleeve of the t-shirt she wore underneath it, prevented him from continuing. Each millimetre of her smooth, pale skin was ice cold.

"Your freezing" he said as he began to gently move his arm back and forth along her own, in a vague attempt to cause warmth from the developing friction. For the first time that night, she felt herself shiver, although from the cold or his fleeting touch she could not be entirely sure.

She shrugged nonchalantly, and moved just enough to be out of his reach. Knowing that if she allowed herself to stop this close to him for too long, then it would only take a single gesture of comfort for her "lets be friends" speech to become completely in vain. Taking her not so subtle hint, Jack dropped his hand back into his lap, his eyes cast downwards.

For a long time neither of them moved, until the sound of a car passing drifted up into her room, and his head snapped up towards the open window, noticing it for the first time since he had woken up.

"No wonder it's so cold in here," he said with a frown and Angela welcomed the new conversation, the simple task easily deterring away from the small hint of tension that had slowly begun to develop between them. She was somewhat surprised when he shifted awkwardly, reaching for his crutches before moving to stand.

"It's alright Jack" she began watching him struggle, but simply he ignored her.

"Jack" she winced as he began to move awkwardly around her bed, each step making him all the more breathless.

"Jack, leave it. I'm alright," she said louder and more forcefully this time. He stopped not even half way across the room, his face flushed from effort, dressed in only a t-shirt and shorts that she had scavenged from the bottom of her dresser, and that were at least a size too big for him.

He gave her a sideways glance, a determined expression on his features and taking in a deep breath, he moved to start walking once more. Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she climbed down from the other side of the bed and reached the doors in two long strides, forcefully pushing them closed before he'd managed another step.

"You were talking in your sleep, gasping for breathe…" she lied her tone harsh as she turned away from the doors to face him once more.

"…I thought it was best to loose in some fresh air" she continued. With a nod, he closed his eyes running a hand down his tired face and yet she still did not miss his small wince of pain. Her face softened, as she was suddenly filled with a sense of guilt.

"Why do you have to be so stubborn all the time Jack" she asked softly regarding him with concerned annoyance.

"Why do you always seem to think you know what's best for us" he hadn't even opened his eyes to look at her. It was a childish reflex action, saying something you knew would be hurtful to someone, just because they had done the same to you. It was something that was never meant to be done once you had finished junior high and yet the words had rolled off his tongue without a second thought, his tired voice sounding gravely in the sudden silence of her apartment.

At the instant realisation of what he had said, his eyes snapped open

"…Me…" he quickly backtracked "Why do you always think you know what's best for me"

She knew that he had honestly meant to use the word "me", and with "me" she could have easily pretended that he was only ever talking about her closing the doors for him, but "us", "What's best for us" brought fire to a thousand questions she didn't want to think about right now.

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…" he babbled quickly, tripping over his own unspoken words. Feeling her lip begin to tremble, her tears finally threatening to fall, she quickly tried to avoid his pleading, apologetic gaze, and without a word moved around him to the scatter of papers, she had left on the floor.

Kneeling down she began to shuffle them into neat piles, before stacking them on the chair in front of her, finally, all that remained was the portrait. She picked it up and placed it on her lap before gently running a pencil-stained finger across the images cheek.

"You nearly died today Jack….." she trailed off as her voice wavered.

Looking at the sketch now, she realised that it had been a mistake to focus all her attention on the fine details of his face. Its peaceful innocence making it hard for any casual observer to determine whether he was fast asleep or in fact dead.

Without him lying there in front of her even, she struggled to see the difference between this and every other portrait she'd drew since working at the Jeffersonian. Death Masks she'd called them once, the faces of people who had been beaten, murdered, mutilated even buried alive beyond recognition. It was almost as if this were his death mask. She'd wanted something to remember him by and instead he looked more like the very thing she was trying to forget.

The very thought of it made her want to be sick, an acidic bile rising to the back of her throat as she realised, that this captured stillness of greys and whites was a stark contrast from the man she could hear moving around behind her.

Yesterday she'd told the others that Jack was all about dirt, but he was so much more than that. To her Jack was all about movement, confidence, force and determination. Slowly she'd noticed them all, even the ones he wasn't particularly proud of, the way his wrist was sometimes red and swollen after having snapped that stupid rubber band a few too many times, the way he'd pinch the bridge of his nose when he couldn't figure something out. The way he had walked up to her at the park, effectively trapping her between the swing and his body. If any other guy had done such a thing she'd have probably moved or pushed them away before they'd managed to get too close, but with Jack she'd been too shocked by the gesture to move.

Even if she'd wanted to.

She should have known that Camille had been wrong when she'd said that their date would be a disaster, should have known better than to go back to him and tell him she'd changed her mind. That way things would have been so much easier, that way she wouldn't have enforced both their assumptions of how great they'd be together.

Flipping the sketchbook closed, she placed it on top of the photographs and stood up. Swallowing hard, wrapping her hands across her chest she turned to face him and was surprised to find him standing only a few inches away, she took an impulsive step back, and her legs connected with the seat of the chair. Once again, she was trapped.

For what seemed like hours, they simply watched each other, Jack eyes flitting across her face as though trying to understand what she was thinking, and feeling. She took in a cautious breath of cool air.

"We should get some sleep…." she said breaking the silence. When he still didn't move, she urged

"…Bren will want us at the lab early tomorrow" Carefully he took an unsteady step towards her, fully closing the small gap that she'd put between them seconds ago. Then slowly he leant forwards one hand coming up to snake into her hair before his lips met hers in the gentlest of kisses. She closed her eyes revelling in the contact.

Reaching one hand up she clasped her fingers around his wrist, as she broke the kiss, resting her forehead against his own. She took in a deep breath, the smell of his cologne and soap invading her senses.

"I can't do this Jack, not now" she insisted determinedly, and yet he was still the first one to move away, her fingers only leaving his skin when his hand fell out of reach.

Quickly training her gaze to the floor, she moved across the room and climbed into the opposite side of the bed to where he had been sleeping only minutes ago. She lay so that her back was to its centre, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, her hair cascading across the maroon material.

For a long time she listened carefully as he slowly moved back around to the other side of the bed, the mattress shifting beneath his weight as he climbed in besides her.

For a brief instant, she hopped that he would shuffle closer to her, wrapping a protective arm around her waist and yet was relived when he didn't. Finally, his breathing evened out and she rolled over to look at him once again.

As she had suspected he had quickly fallen back to sleep, lying on his side his face was towards her. One of his own arms was tucked beneath his pillow, the other lay stretched out across the gap between them, as they both lay precariously close to their prospective edges. She found herself once again watching him, before her eyes began to grow heavy, the rhythm of his breathing lulling her to sleep.

Reaching across what little gap remained between them she carefully entwined her fingers with the hand that was splayed across the mattress towards her. Pulling the duvet up around their ears, she closed her eyes willing herself to fall asleep.

Desperately trying to ignore the way her own mind insisted that the simple gesture of holding his hand, was so much more than just wanting to ensure herself that he would still be lying there besides her, when morning finally came.

**The End**

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_Reviews and comments greatly appreciated._


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